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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605609">Prism</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushingthesenses/pseuds/pushingthesenses'>pushingthesenses</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rey Doesn't Exist, And I am not one bit sorry about it, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Dyad (Star Wars), Force-Sensitive Reader, Gray Jedi, Han Solo Lives, I'm going to make a lot of things up about a dyad, Jedi Finn (Star Wars), Jedi Reader, Kidnapping, Kylo Ren in Love, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Luke Skywalker is a bit of an asshole, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Kylo Ren, Protective Kylo Ren, Soft Kylo Ren, Starkiller Base, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, The Force Ships It, This is absolutely in no way canon compliant, Visions in dreams, and because star wars doesn't make sense anyway, because he loOoOoVES you, because it's my story and i can do what i wanna!!, but you know what i mean, except to you, i don't care, i don't want to hear about 'the grey isn't canon!', i'm probably gonna make a lot of stuff up about star wars for the sake of this story, just for the sake of this story, listen - i just don't like luke, literally just pretend the sequel trilogy never happened okay, not that i won't try to be as universe compliant as possible, the republic is still a thing, to you anyway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:21:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushingthesenses/pseuds/pushingthesenses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Kylo Ren's fall to the darkside, Luke Skywalker rebuilds his temple, hoping to redeem himself by finally building a new Jedi order. </p>
<p>Years later, somewhere in the unknown regions, you're pulled from an inferno, with no recollection of who you are. What you do have, though, is an unwavering sense of emptiness, one that has settled deep into your soul. Can you find what you've been missing?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>“Don't do this."<br/>
“You’ll never understand, never. How stupid am I to think I could ever show you – really show you -  what this feels like.”<br/>
“You’re throwing everything you’ve worked for away! Everything we’ve built!”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The voices come in echoes that crash over you like waves. At first they sound distant, far beyond your grasp.<br/>
You realise, then, that you’re falling. Tumbling through endless darkness, closer to sounds, to them.<br/>
“I don’t care! And believe me, I wish that I did but I don’t, and I know that’s not what you want to hear,” you recognise your own voice, loud and strained. That familiar falter in your tone as you battle to compose yourself, to retain your rage.<br/>
The other voice is garbled in your mind, like a scrambled code you can’t quite comprehend. Part of you recognises its structure, but it still seems so foreign, so unknown.<br/>
You’re falling faster now, you feel the air whip against your skin - cold, sharp. The voices are getting louder, screaming all at once, and you try to cover your ears, only to realise it makes no difference. They’re screeching through you, the vibrations bouncing off your skull. A third, quiet, more helpless voice calls out for it all to stop. Feeble pleadings of “don’t hurt her” fill the empty space. The faint etchings of faces break into your consciousness.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“This isn’t how this is supposed to go!”<br/>
You feel the pain then. Raw and hot and searing, like a burning needle through your brain. Why is he doing this? His face, grimaced and angry, so, so angry - but it’s so familiar.  Like you’d known him in another life.<br/>
You watch yourself reach out, helpless yet determined, trying with everything you have left in you to touch the other man who stands behind him – bewildered, scared. His face is one you cling to as your mind slips away, getting foggier by the second. Still, you persevere, you try to push through, frantically searching the depths of your mind to find his name. To remember. You feel a pull toward him. You know him.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>You try to scream his name, but nothing leaves your mouth. Just a futile wail as your coherence begins to crumble, your vision fading to black as your skin is coated in what feels like ice.</i>
</p>
<p>And then the air hits your lungs like fire. Tangled in your sheets, you wake from something that feels less like a dream and more like a memory you can’t piece together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p>You have no reason to feel sadness.<br/>
You are loved, and loved by many. You have prospects. You are not hopeless.<br/>
You have no reason to feel anger.<br/>
You have a home, a lover, and even friends. Your life is one that many less fortunate would seek.<br/>
You have no reason to feel rage.<br/>
No one has hurt you. You are healthy, able bodied and capable. Smart and funny - at least, you’d like to think that you are. You are not neglected.<br/>
You certainly have no reason to feel empty. Your life, at present, is fulfilling. You are not missing anything.</p>
<p>Except, you are. You’re missing everything. And you feel it, you feel it so viscerally. But perhaps what is worse is the endless grey. The fog. The confusion.</p>
<p>Your partner will tell you that it’s because of the fire. Because, of course, what else could it be?<br/>
“Of course you’re confused,” he’d smile. “Of course you’re angry! I would be too if I couldn’t remember my life. But you must let go, rebuild”.<br/>
And every time he’d say it, you would agree, despite the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that no, that wasn’t it. It can’t be it.</p>
<p>Five years ago, you had been engulfed in a blazing house fire as you slept - or so they tell you. You escaped, but during your frantic efforts to avoid the roaring flames, you had fallen somehow, hit your head.<br/>
You awoke several days later, remembering nothing of your life. Not even your name. Not your parents, not your family, not your home. Nothing.</p>
<p>It’s a fear you’ve never been able to describe to anyone after the fact. The panic of being told who you are, and not being able to argue, because you don't <i>know</i> who you are in the first place. A loss of control you never want to experience again.<br/>
You’ve built some semblance of a life in the five years you’ve been ‘awake’. You have a job at a cantina, a loving partner. You want for nothing, you don’t struggle. But something always just feels so wrong. You feel a rage that has no tangible root. An indescribable guilt and a deep-seated pain plagues your consciousness, and your dreams are dominated by familiar faces you can’t place. Conversations you know you had, but can’t recall. Places you’ve never seen, yet feel you know.<br/>
Strangest of all, and perhaps the most childish, is your unusual pull to the stars. The thought that this – this sad, incapable, dying – planet is all there is – causes you profound sadness. You feel a pull to join someone, or something, out beyond the reach of the star systems you can see from the ground. You seek a sense of belonging that you really should already be feeling, but for some reason, don’t.</p>
<p>The dreams had only begun a matter of days ago, yet they consume your entire mind, even when you wake. So, you spend much of your free time sleeping – you’ve grown attached to your them, your dreams. You feel connected to the voices, and when they speak to you, it’s the only time you’ve ever felt certain. Of what? You aren’t sure. But you’re certain, nonetheless. Your mind's made up on something. You just haven’t figured out what.  </p>
<p>So, you lay down in the middle of the day, allowing your eyes to flutter shut, and will to find the answers you so desperately seek.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>You’re walking on a desert path. The air is still. Peaceful. The sand beneath your feet is soft, unstable, and hot, and it doesn’t bother you at all that you’re slipping and sliding as you make your way forward. You feel at peace.<br/>
The scene is familiar somehow. Twin suns send raging heat down to the surface, and you feel your hair begin to stick to the back of your neck. Though you don’t know where you’re going, you feel a sense of direction. You’re holding something, cold and metal, but your eyes never once peer downward. Your gaze is fixed on the horizon. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i> “I’m coming for you,”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>You whirl around when you hear the sudden sound, somehow recognising that voice. The silky baritone reverberates through the air. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>There’s a shrouded figure standing not far from you, his back turned. Concealed in layers of black fabrics that fall to meet the soles of his boots. You inhale sharply, the humid air sticky in your throat.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Who are you?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I’ve never stopped searching,” he continues, as though he can’t hear you. “I knew you weren’t really gone, I could still feel… a flicker of you,” He is pacing back and forth, gloved hands flexing in and out of fists as he limps across your line of sight. The sand makes no movement beneath his feet.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Tell me who you are!”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I slaughtered all the Jedi, half the galaxy with my bare hands to find the answers of who took you, where they hid you,” he trails off, falling to his knees. He takes a breath, as though he’s restraining a sob. Shakily, he continues. “But now, I’ve found you. I’m coming, little one. I’m coming to get you. And I’ll kill him for taking you.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>You stumble toward him, only to be pulled further away. You reach out, willing him to turn around, to show you his face.<br/>
“Please, who are you?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He can’t hear you. He doesn’t even know you’re there.<br/>
“Be patient, my love,” he whispers. “I’m coming.”</i>
</p>
<p>You feel as though you’re hurled back into reality with the force of a hurricane. Your skin is alive, charged and buzzing. You feel dizzy, nauseous, and tears form at the corners of your eyes as you lay back, sobs bubbling to the surface as you writhe in unfathomable pain. Every bone, every muscle, every joint aches and burns. Your heart is racing, your hair stuck to your skin with sweat. For a moment, you even swear you can see the electricity gathering - sparking, almost - on your trembling limbs. Your head throbs, pounding against your skull, and your ears ring loudly, sending a shiver up your spine. You wince at the sensation. </p>
<p>You can’t catch your breath, and you claw at your chest in panic, feeling momentarily like you’re about to die.<br/>
<i>No, this isn’t normal. This isn’t right. This shouldn’t be happening.</i><br/>
No matter how terrible or vivid your dreams were, you’d never before awoken in such a frantic state. You’ve never felt such torment before, such anguish  – as though you’re a fragile sea shell crumbling into sand.<br/>
Panting, you make a feeble attempt to stand, but your legs feel as though they’re missing their bones - your knees buckle and tremble with the weight. You fall to the floor, retching, whimpering.  Bile turns in your stomach, snaking up your throat with a harsh, searing burn. You relent to the pain, curling into a ball between your bed and the wall, your howls drowning out that infuriating, static ring.<br/>
<i>No, that couldn’t have been a dream</i>.<br/>
You sit like that, breaths coming in harsh gulps, for some time, unaware in your delirium that the morning sun has breached the horizon. Eventually, once you can no longer cry, you slip from reality back into your dreams, your arms wrapped tightly around your chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p>
  <i>“You’re starting to sound like the complete opposite of what we’ve been training to be.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>You recognise this boy, the one who speaks to you now. You recognise his voice - echoes of ‘don’t hurt her’ flitter through your mind. His eyes are kind, you think. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Well, I prefer to think for myself. I don’t let rules tell me how to think,”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>You look down at your hands, where they’re placed in your lap. You can tell, by the size of your arms, your legs - you’re young, here. A child, perhaps no more than eleven or twelve standard years. This memory is old, long buried. You recognise that defiant tone of yours, that same stubbornness, somehow. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“And you think that I do?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“That’s what you Jedi do, isn’t it? You deal only in absolutes, think only of the benefit of the light, never the dark.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Are you forgetting that you’re one too?” he laughs as he speaks. You find this conversation strangely familiar. "What do you mean? Why are you saying this?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Because this can’t be ‘balance’!” you flail your fabric clad arms through the air for dramatic effect. But your movements feel disconnected, distant. You know you aren’t really there.  “Balance is the line between all consuming dark and all consuming light. Walking that line and understanding both sides of the force and their uses – that, that is balance.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Your words are far beyond your years, you think. As it happens, the boy thinks so, too. He frowns. You sense fear, then confusion, then…nothing.  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Where’d you hear that from?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Someone told me.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He sits at a table – it’s round and gold and made of something beautiful. Something you’ve never seen on your quiet, meek planet.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Who’s someone? Huh?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>You shrug your shoulders, turning away from him.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Someone wise.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Doesn’t sound very wise to me.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“He is so!” You huff. “He’s right, too, I think.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“So it’s a ‘he’, huh?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Don’t start,” you sigh. “You wouldn’t know him.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“How do you know?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Believe me,” you say, getting up from your seat. “I know.”</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Some days later, you’re sitting in your quarters, alone. You’ve been thinking of the dark-clothed man, that dream, that horror. It wasn’t seeing him that was so horrible, but the aftermath of it. Despite it all, you feel a frenzied, desperate <i>need</i> for him. A man you’ve never seen, never even known. The pull you feel  - it’s magnetic, consuming. Of course, you feel drawn to the other faces you see in your dreams – you can decipher, somehow, that you are bonded with them in some way. But with this man, this stranger, it’s different. His figure plagues your thoughts all day, and you wonder what it could possibly be about him that’s causing such a violent reaction within you. After all, he’s a figment of your imagination, is he not? That dream, the desert - it was too distorted, too...<i>off</i> to be a memory. He <i>can’t</i> be real.<br/>
You can’t understand it – though, if you're honest, you can’t understand much of the past few days. It weighs on you, and your bones still ache with an unexplained pressure. </p>
<p>“How are you feeling?”<br/>
Your partner raps softly on your door, and your head whips around to face him. You’ve been lying to people, telling them you’re sick. Perhaps it’s true – you certainly aren’t feeling stable.<br/>
“Tired,” You mumble, deciding to be somewhat honest. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”<br/>
You haven’t been dreaming much, either. When you do, all you can hear are shrill, anguished cries that sound far too much like your own.</p>
<p>“It’s been a rough few days for you,” He says softly, not venturing too close. You’ve been flinching at his every touch ever since these dreams - these terrors, these memories - began. “I’ll let you get some rest,” he retreats, and you feel a sharp pang of guilt somewhere in your chest. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he looks back to you, and you can feel how his gaze lingers on the darkened circles beneath your eyes. “You’ve been talking in your sleep.”</p>
<p>“I have?”</p>
<p>He hums.</p>
<p>“What’ve I been saying?</p>
<p>“You’ve been saying…” He trails off momentarily, as though he’s afraid to tell you, afraid to say what it is that he’s heard. </p>
<p>“You’ve been saying <i>names</i>.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“We’ve been contacted by a Jedi,” Hux starts, clasping his hands confidently behind him, as though he hadn’t nearly broken his back for displaying that same cockiness. “I hadn’t given you the report as we only have half the transmission decoded, it was encrypted, obviously intended only for us.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A shorter chapter, from Kylo's perspective. I know this story, like The Cultist, is a bit of a slow starter, but we'll get there eventually, lol.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Supreme Leader Kylo Ren sits irritably on his throne, - there’s something about sitting idly around that grates him to his core – fingers rapping on the arm rest as he listens to his subordinates harp on about operations on Starkiller Base. He doesn’t care. He hasn’t cared for a while.</p>
<p>At first, when you were ripped from his grasp, he was manic. The moment it happened, when he’d first felt the loss of your presence, the snap of the binds that tether your soul to his, he’d destroyed half of the bridge of the Steadfast in rage. He’d narrowly missed the neck of his own top general, Armitage Hux. Of course, you hadn’t physically been there with him – Kylo Ren has never met you, which is, perhaps, the strangest part of this ordeal – but he’d felt you go. That familiar feeling of your energy that sat nestled in the deepest crevices of his core had faded, almost to nothing. The pain that he’d felt every moment of every day since your dyad was awoken – in his muscles, his joints, his mind – subsided, but didn’t disappear. He knew they hadn’t killed you, but they’d incapacitated you – cut you off from the force. From him. He thought he’d felt fury before, but never like this. His vision turned white – from the heat of his saber or from the fury, he may never know. He had destroyed everything in his path. He’d even killed several of his maintenance officers, purely by accident. </p>
<p>That was five years ago. He hasn’t cared about anything else since.</p>
<p>“And what of the search?” he interrupts, deciding he doesn’t have the restraint, the patience, to let them finish their report. “I don’t care about anything else, I’ve told you <i>several</i> times to report to General Hux with your maintenance drivel.”<br/>
“But, Sir…” the officer momentarily tapers off, his voice hitching with anxiety. “Supreme Leader Ren, <i>you</i> are our head of command.”</p>
<p>Kylo rolls his eyes behind his mask, jaw clenching in irritation. </p>
<p>“I’m painfully aware,” he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “But General Hux will inform me of anything I absolutely need to know, and I absolutely do not need to know any of this,” his voice is stern, commanding, mechanically distorted by his vocoder. It ignites fear, panic in everyone who hears it – but not you. Not his girl.</p>
<p>“So,” he continues, leaning back. “Answer my question. I won’t ask again.”</p>
<p>The officers shoot each other alarmed, nervous looks. “Sir, there was one report, but it wasn’t ready for submission,” the officer looks down, fixing his eyes to the foot of Ren’s throne. “General Hux told us not to inform you until it was fully prepared.”</p>
<p>
  <i>Of course he did.</i>
</p>
<p>Kylo quickly stands, knees creaking with the sudden movement. The pain is particularly bad today - it has flared up in recent days, rendering him useless. And it infuriates him, how little he can do, how much he now has to rely on others to get anything done. Unlike Snoke, who came before him, Kylo has always preferred to be out in the mess. To sit behind the controls of his Whisper, to go on missions <i>himself</i>, rather than sending his incompetent men to do his bidding. For days, now, his agony has caused him to step back from his onslaught, from his control. He’d burned himself out at first, pushing through the ache, the throb, as he continued his search for you, slaughtering every living creature that got in his way. Against his better judgement, though, he has since retreated, allowing his body to heal. He’s no good to anyone, no good to you, if he’s dead. </p>
<p>“Well then I suggest you tell General Hux that I want that report, and I want it from him, <i>personally</i>,” he grits his teeth, fists clenching. “So leave here and retrieve him, and do it now before you regret wasting my time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time General Hux enters the throne room, Kylo is pacing furiously back and forth, twirling his ignited cross-saber nimbly around in his leather-clad hands. His limp doesn’t go unnoticed by Hux, and Kylo can feel the satisfaction that it brings him, the smugness that’s only barely visible on his stoic features. He enjoys it, seeing Kylo in pain - Ren knows as much. Were it not for how much he <i>needs</i> Armitage, he’d have sliced right through him long ago.<br/>
Hux comes to a halt several feet from Kylo’s horizontal path, not bothering to bow his head or kneel, as he should. Armitage likes to think that Kylo doesn’t know how petrified he truly is of him, how acutely aware he is that he pushes Ren’s limits so often, that it is a wonder he’s still breathing at all. But Kylo can see through the General’s facade. He knows all too well just how to scare him. </p>
<p>“I hear you’ve been keeping things from me,” Kylo says cooly, not looking at Hux. “I <i>entrusted</i> you to do this for me,” he regards him with indignation, trying in vain to control himself. His temper simmers dangerously just beneath the surface. It always does, where you’re concerned. </p>
<p>“Sir,” Armitage clears his throat, “Supreme Leader Ren, you must understand-“<br/>
“Don’t tell me what I <i>must</i> do,” Kylo spins around and abruptly sends a wave of force toward Hux, knocking him into the air and onto his back. “I won’t ask twice, what of the search?”</p>
<p>Hux struggles to his knees, then to his feet. He dusts off his front, a move that irritates Kylo almost enough to shove him back to the ground. He restrains himself.</p>
<p>“We’ve been contacted by a Jedi,” Hux starts, clasping his hands confidently behind him, as though he hadn’t nearly broken his back for displaying that same cockiness. “I hadn’t given you the report as we only have half the transmission decoded, it was encrypted, obviously intended only for us.”</p>
<p>Kylo steps back. He feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. His breathing becomes shallow, quick. The sudden stress shoots a jolt of pain through his already aching spine.</p>
<p>“A Jedi," Kylo states bluntly, almost disbelievingly. "A <i>Jedi</i> contacted the First Order?” he asks, more to himself than to Hux. “Impossible, I killed them all. She should be the only one left,” he mumbles, discrediting the Jedi master who had taken you from him. Kylo hasn’t found him, not yet. But he will, he’s promised himself as much.</p>
<p>“Well, it would appear that you forgot to kill her favourite friend,” Hux suppresses a smirk, and Kylo grits his teeth. “<i>He</i> is the one who has made the transmission. He’s looking for her, actually, and as it happens, he may have found the one person who knows where she is.”<br/>
“How can this be? Who is this ‘<i>friend</i>’?”</p>
<p>He realises that this is something he surely should know. He has been inside your mind, he’d spent months encircling your every thought, as you did his.</p>
<p>“Apparently, his name is Finn, sir. And the transmission is addressed to you.”</p>
<p> *</p>
<p>Kylo bulls into the control room in a gust of billowing cloaks and leather. Though his mask – which he hates, truthfully, absolutely <i>loathes</i>– obstructs some of his vision, he can clearly see the operator standing at the transmission station.<br/>
“Play it.” He demands, coming to a halt behind the frenzied Lieutenant.<br/>
Knowing better than to make him ask twice, they tap several buttons.<br/>
“It will cut off half way through, sir, it’s still decoding.”<br/>
He shoots her a warning glance, fists clenching as he taps his foot impatiently.<br/>
A glitch-y holomessage stutters to life.</p>
<p>“I really never thought I’d be sending this, but I’m looking for her too,” the sound quality is poor, cutting off in parts. “Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, we’re on the same search for the same girl. She was...” he trails off only for a moment, before clearing his throat. “She <i>is</i> my friend. I know about your dyad. I know that you love her. I know...I <i>know</i> you’ll help me find her. I’m including with this transmission the coordinates for the star-system and planet where I think there’s an informant that knows where she’s been hidden. I was there when Master-“</p>
<p>It cuts off.</p>
<p>“Are the coordinates decoded?”  Hux asks, appearing to Ren’s left. Kylo, though, is too stunned to speak, his only movement is his fingers as they tense against the palm of his hand, in and out of a fist.<br/>
“No, sir, I’m afraid not,” the Lieutenant shakes her head apologetically. “But it shouldn’t be long before we have them,”<br/>
Kylo staggers backward. He feels a flicker of something he hasn’t felt in some time. A flicker of <i>you</i>. The throb in his joints begins to pound, ripping him from his thoughts. He grunts as his knee buckles slightly.<br/>
“I’ll be in my quarters,” he mumbles, swiftly turning his back to the officers. “Alert me as soon as they’re ready.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stands facing his viewport. So many stars, so many planets, so many expendable little clusters of life, yet none of them have you.<br/>
The flicker returns, then, stronger than before. Like the flame of a candle swaying in the evening breeze. Your energy has always existed inside of him, but it was faint, before - almost ghostly. A remnant of something long gone. But this … this is something more, he knows it. Knows that it’s rising. He wonders if you’re awakening, or if perhaps you can hear him. He <i>always</i> speaks to you, every single day, even though he can’t reach you, even though he knows you’ll never hear him. But perhaps now, as he gets tantalisingly closer to concluding this draining search, you may hear his echo.</p>
<p>“I’m coming for you,” he whispers against the glass. He has discarded his mask for the time being, though his head is still shrouded by the hood of his cowl. “I’ve never stopped searching, I knew you weren’t really gone, I could still feel… a flicker of you,” He steps back from the viewport and begins pacing, his limp causing his feet to drag slightly. His knees scream in protest, but he ignores it.</p>
<p>“I slaughtered all the Jedi, half the galaxy with my bare hands to find the answers of who took you, where they hid you,” His joints roar louder now than they have in many years, forcing the young man to his knees. The pain, however sore, however tormenting, gives him hope. Hope that you’re there, that you can hear him. That you’ll come to him. He chokes back a sob, half of desperation and half of agony. He holds a gloved hand to the glass, steadying himself, inhaling deeply. He's losing his composure, and suddenly, he is acutely aware of the threat that someone will see, that someone will find him like this. Weakened and shattered, a meek shell of who he <i>knows</i> he is. </p>
<p>“But now, I’ve found you. I’m coming, little one. I’m coming to get you. And I’ll kill him for taking you.”</p>
<p>He feels himself crumbling to the floor, submitting to the demands of his aching body.</p>
<p>“Be patient, my love, I’m coming.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
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        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“When will we finally be together?” he murmurs the words so quietly, almost as though he doesn’t want you to hear him like this, so vulnerable, so defenseless. Exposed like a wire, the current burning right through his skin.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a quick FYI that will be expanded on later on in the story:  reader is currently living on an uncharted planet in the unknown regions, untouched and unknown by The First Order and Republic. <b>Also</b> I'm making a few things up about a force dyad - because, look. I didn't vibe with how...banal they made it in the ST films. I feel like one soul being bound to another should be far more, y'know, intense. So that's what I'm aiming for with this.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>You’re sitting cross legged on the floor of a training room. Your eyes flutter closed, your hands coming to rest on your knees. You inhale deeply, in through your mouth and out through your nose, allowing yourself to be completely still.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>You’re aware that you’re in your own body, though you can’t control it. You try to open your eyes, to move your mouth, but your actions bear no fruit. You can hear it, the steady thrum of your consciousness, the trickling stream of thoughts that you suppose, must be yours, as they quiet into nothing. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I am one with the force,” you whisper, completely unaware that the hilt of your saber and your discarded gloves have begun to rise into the air. “I am one with the force.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>You feel it then, a ripple, then a wave. You’re ripped from your meditation by a presence, and the unmistakable feeling of complete stillness. Silence.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Thoughts that aren’t really yours but you know, <b>must</b> be, because they flow through your mind steadily now, gushing in from a consciousness that feels familiar yet foreign. He sits before you, on a monochrome chair that doesn’t exist in your surroundings. You think it belongs at a desk, that he must have been working. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Strange, how and when these connections happen,” he says, his voice low and distorted by his mask. “But they’re a welcome surprise. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>You smile. “I don’t think either of us have a choice,” you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. His seat is several meters from you, yet still, he still towers over you. You crane your neck slightly to look up at him, into the darkened visor of his mask. “How was your day?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>You can’t see him, but you can tell that he smiles beneath his mask. You can feel it, the miniscule vibration that ripples across your bond. Contentment.<br/>
“Another day, another battle with Hux. Nothing terribly new…” he trails off.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>You know, you do, that he’s new to this – being in any way emotionally connected to another living thing. You know that he’s felt it, long ago, as a child when he clung to those sworn to protect him - but didn’t. When he allowed himself the small, quiet treasure of friendship with a young boy named Tai. It hurt him, when you’d stumbled upon that memory of his, while you carded gently through his mind. You left it be, left it to be his and his alone. It’s been so long now, since he’s allowed himself any semblance of attachment. But he tries. He does, really, he does. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>You can see inside his mind, as he can yours, though there are things he shields, hides them behind steel-plated walls you can’t penetrate – such as his face, his childhood, his parents. What you do see, though, is the terror, the horror he inflicts upon the galaxy. Blood, war, death. Sadness. You see his vulnerability. His guilt. His loneliness. Beneath it all, there is light. A softness, a glimmer of something you can’t quite place. It calls to be freed, but the darkness that is Kylo Ren keeps it well buried. And you wonder, really, why he’s chosen to show you what cruelty he’s capable of. Why he’s chosen not to shield those things, why he’s chosen to lead with menace and destruction. It doesn’t scare you, though it should. And you feel it, feel how he’s glad for it, how he revels quietly in the knowledge that you accept him, all of him. He tries not to think about the technicalities, tries not to think about how you’re bound to him - body and soul - whether you want to be or otherwise. Because if he follows that train of thought, if he allows that gate to open, he’ll crumble. He needs to feel this as it is, feel it as your voluntary acceptance, rather than a lack of choice. This, you know. This, you hear as he thinks it, as he wills himself away from the intrusive thoughts. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It should be impossible for you, a Jedi, to love a man like this – capable of such menace. Though you’d always known exactly who he was – the Supreme Leader of the First Order, a menacing galactic empire set to crush the Republic - you’d never seen his face, nor had you met him. You simply came to each other, basking in the unexplainable love that surges between you, through a force bond. A dyad. You’ve spent long enough wondering why the force has chosen you, and even longer why it has chosen <b>him</b>. You didn’t want to love him, at first. But you did, you do. Even on the nights when he stands before you, covered head to toe in blood, you love him. And being apart from him – oh does it ache. Your joints, your bones, your muscles all consumed in excruciating, gruelling pain. Meditation is your only release, your only solace, and it never lasts long enough.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“What of yours?” he asks finally, coaxing your wandering thoughts, your wavering attention, back to him.<br/>
You shrug.<br/>
“The pain is particularly bad today,” you sigh. “I haven’t done much.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He hums in agreement, the baritone of it causing the vocoder to rumble with static. For a moment, neither of you say anything. The connections, as delightful as they are, can be just as painful as being apart completely. You can’t touch one another – at least, neither of you have tried it yet – and they often end suddenly and without warning, leaving you both devastated. The pull, the never-ending need to be with one another is all consuming, drenching every inch of your souls in a twisted melancholy. That’s the trouble with a dyad, you think. It’s a hundred thousand times more engulfing, more intoxicating than the sense of normal love - of that, you’re certain. Because it has to be. Because the pain of being apart is almost killing you both. It exhausts you, it drains every cell in your body of any semblance of energy it may have left. And you know already, that it will remain blazing hot and all-consuming for the rest of your lives. The thought alone both exhillerates you and terrifies you.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>All you want, all you crave, is to be by his side, but you don’t know how. Don’t know how to get to him, don’t know how to leave your own life, your own responsibilities as a Jedi Knight. You had warned him against coming for you – that the Republic would likely deem it a kidnapping. You warned him that they’d look for you - that they’d send ships, squadrons, Knights.<br/>
"So let them," he’d said. "I’m going to destroy them anyway." <br/>
Though eventually, you convinced him that it wasn’t the best way forward. You can’t bear the thought of losing him in a war. Or at all.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“When will we finally be together?” he murmurs the words so quietly, almost as though he doesn’t want you to hear him like this, so vulnerable, so defenseless. Exposed like a wire, the current burning right through his skin. Because really, he doesn’t want this - you seeing him this way. He hates it. Hates that you know the thoughts, the feelings he can’t hide. Hates that you’ve crawled right into his skull and pulled them out, one by one, like loose threads on an ageing cowl. Hates this feeling of being so susceptible - an open nerve ending waiting to be singed.<br/>
“I ache for you.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“And I for you,” you feel tears threaten to spill past your eyelids. “I’d do anything, anything at all just to be with you. To feel you, to touch you.”<br/>
He rises to his feet, stepping toward you. He holds out a gloved hand and you watch as it trembles, shaking with the thought of it, the weight of it - the weight of offering himself to you. You feel him - all of him. His energy, his anguish, his racing thoughts. They engulf you, swallow you whole until you feel like your drowning, like the air can’t reach your lungs because the force of him lodges deep in your throat. He’s beginning to lower his walls, allowing the heavy armoured bricks to crumble at your feet.<br/>
“Then come to me,” he whispers, and you can hear it, the pain in his voice. “Come to me, my love.”</i>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When you wake, you’re panicked, terrified. You swallow air, gulping it down your throat as though you’ve been choking, clawing relentlessly at your face. It wasn’t like the first experience you’d had with the dark clothed man earlier that week. No, this was different – this was undeniably a <i>memory</i>. You could feel your thoughts, your fears - and his, too, as they wrapped around your insides, squeezing and crushing every nerve in your body. You remember every second of that encounter now as though it were yesterday – but nothing before it, and nothing after. This memory, this small sliver of something, it’s all you have, all you can cling to of your life before. Of who you were. Who you <i>are</i>.<br/>
You can’t place where it was, where you sat  – everything about the scene is alien to you, right down to the material of the floor you’d sat on. You can’t fathom it, can’t understand, why this is all you've been given. Can’t understand where it came from. Can’t understand why it’s <i>this</i> one.</p>
<p>You leap out of bed, your feet hitting the floor with a crash as you throw your weight down onto the wooden floor. Your partner jumps, waking from his sleep with a start. </p>
<p>“What’s going on?” He asks groggily, eyes widening as he takes in your frenzied expression. “Are you alright? What’s happening?”<br/>
“I don’t know,” your breath is shallow and fast, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Several days later, you’re at work, sliding your cloth across the bar. The cantina is quiet, the low buzz of banal conversations hum in your ears. Your friends sit at the bar before you, offering witty remarks as you scrub cracked glasses and wipe down dented plates. You’re grateful for it, you are, though you fail to show it. Your scowl is reflected in the steel of the plate you’ve been drying for well over seven minutes now.<br/>
You’re surrounded by your comrades and your lover and you <i>should</i> be happy. But your mind is elsewhere, focused on the masked man, the man you’re sure you loved. The man in your memory.<br/>
You have so many questions, but no one to ask.</p>
<p>
  <i>‘I’m coming for you.’</i>
</p>
<p>The words echo through your brain, engulfing every moment, your every thought. </p>
<p>You can’t concentrate on the conversations happening around you. You can’t even look up. All you want to do is sleep, to slip so deep into slumber that you’ll find him again, tangled up somewhere in the fog between your half formed memories and present self. </p>
<p>And though that’s exactly what you had <i>planned</i> to do with your day, you know keeping up appearances will serve you better than wasting time chasing the idea of someone, of a man you aren’t even sure is real.<br/>
You’re so distracted, so encased in your own speculation, that you don’t notice the lights inside the cantina flicker. You don’t see the flashes of green and red light soaring past the windows, or the faint sound of rumbling. You don’t notice the quiet hum of murmuring voices slowly ascend into panicked garbling. You do, however, hear the screaming roar of the ion engines, as they rip you from your daze. You do notice a patron who had been sitting by the viewport, whirl around in horror. And you absolutely noticed his terrified screams.</p>
<p>“There’s something in the sky!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
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</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
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